And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, ‘Come and see.’ And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.
Chapter 00
Prologue
THE ROAD OUT of Gryphondale wasn’t exactly a spectacle to behold. Then again, the land of Gryphondale didn’t exactly hold as many wonders as say Equestria, or Zebrica. But the road out of Gryphondale was particularly unimpressive. A beaten dirt track cut clean through the Firelight Woods. Though it was impressive the builders managed to keep the road straight, cutting a wide swathe straight through the uneven countryside; it made it all the more disappointing to see the lack of finish. No asphalt, no cobbles, nothing. Just an uneven path littered with half-buried stones – smooth and uncovered after centuries of trampling – and let’s not forget the potholes. More like chasms than potholes.
Rolling down this disaster of public construction befitting only as a highway to hell was a single bow-topped wagon. Like the road it followed, the wagon was generally unimpressive, wooden wheels, clean white canvas. Drawing it was a single pony covered in brown drab robes, a hood pulled up over his head so only the tip of his black nose was visible, his dreary garb dappled with the snow drizzling from the sky to match the equally dreary and snow dusted surroundings.
Behind him perched on the front of the wagon was a figure completely obscured by her white garb, topped by a floral patterned bonnet.
Under the grim cold grey sky, the couple continued on their path to Equestria; and hopefully better climes. Things hadn’t been the same since the mass gathering of Windigo consuming all ends of the earth. But everypony knew Princess Celestia had a solution. She always had a solution to what ailed the world.
The couple’s progress was impeded however, by an explosion of leaves.
Though he would normally not let such a minor thing stop him from bringing his loved ones to a better place, what worried the stallion drawing the wagon was not the burst of foliage filling the air – he found the four figures leaping from the woods to block his path much more concerning.
As they landed, their sharpened hooves struck the ground with pronounced thuds, made only louder by the fact the four unicorns were laden down with rustic looking armour plating protecting them from their necks down to their fetlocks. The iron plates rattled as they shifted into a formation that blocked the wagon’s path, and upon seeing the fierce looking crossbows, the stallion drawing his cart skidded to a halt.
The wagon rocked into a pothole and jerked to a sudden stop, some boxes on board falling over and rattling noisily. Reacting with expectable fear, the stallion untethered himself and backed away from the four armoured ponies. Stumbling up the front of the wagon, he cowered beside his wife who cringed, huddling beside the stallion.
With smirks plastered over their faces, the armoured unicorns moved closer with their horns glowing. Their telekinetic glows engulfed their crossbows and they unencumbered the weapons. With a series of preparatory clicks they cocked the bows and aimed at the couple cowering at their wagon.
“You know the drill, kid. Hooves up, money out.” The lead unicorn demanded.
Gulping loudly, the stallion on the wagon held his wife tighter. “Oh no! Four mean looking highway-ponies!” though even as he said it, the exclamation sounded uninterested. Almost sarcastic.
Confusedly the four highway-ponies glanced at each other as the blue stallion lowered his head. A smirk was clearly visible on his face as his hood shifted back a little to reveal the green glint of his eyes in the murky shadow.
“Oh, I beg your pardon!” The pony continued in a loud snarky tone. “Four changeling assassins in drag! Lose the get-up, Kriss.” – He snapped his gaze to the lead highway-pony – “I’d recognise that ugly mug of yours through a brick wall!”
With a sigh, the lead unicorn lowered his head. Then chuckling he glanced over at his comrades and gave them the nod. In a blaze of magical green fire, all four highway-ponies were engulfed. And when the inferno passed, they were gone; replaced by four midnight black creatures with cratered uneven skin, glowing eyes, jagged horns pulsing with sickly energy and delicate looking insectoid wings that fluttered every so often like a nervous twitch.
They were replaced by changelings.
As he took a step closer, the lead changeling assassin – Kriss – was practically in a position to take over drawing the wagon for the owners. Lowering his crossbow across his chest, Kriss gave a fangy smile.
“Is that you, Darklight? Been a long time. Good to see you remember me, even after Chrysalis bucked your flank out of the hive.” Kriss called out with a shake of his head, almost like he was disappointed he didn’t get to hunt the pony to the ends of the earth. “Thought you could run from us forever?”
Reaching up, the stallion on the wagon pushed his hood back. Revealing his face fully, Darklight brushed a hoof over his own jagged horn before slicking back his own antennae.
“A colt can dream.” The changeling outcast answered with a smirk.
That made Kriss chuckle. He had to respect Darklight’s boldness. Most creatures would run for the hills and stay gone when they caught wind changeling assassins were looking for them. But not Darklight for some strange reason. That crazy changeling just ran headlong back into the line of fire. Kriss admitted he liked that kind of bravery.
Or maybe it was just stupidity. Kriss was always confused which of those two things he liked about ponies, because they both usually ended up providing easy meal-tickets.
“The queen’s gonna hand us a nice reward for your head, Darklight.” – Kriss assured before nodding to the second figure huddled up beside Darklight – “But first, I’m kinda peckish. I think you’ll give me a bit of one-on-one time with the missus there.”
Blinking a few times to check Kriss face and make sure the changeling was serious – Darklight looked to the bonnet on his shoulder, then back to Kriss before scoffing loudly. “Oh, you might want to reconsider that second thing. See, I married me a powerful ugly creature.”
The bonnet on Darklight’s shoulder suddenly lifted up and his ‘wife’ reeled at the comment. The white-clad figure gave a distinct gasp before they all heard a voice. A very loud, gruff and disturbingly masculine voice.
“How can ‘ya say that?” Darklight’s companion cried as the grim daylight shone on his face. “How can ‘ya shame me in front’a new ponies?”
All the changeling assassins gaped with confusion as the creature huddled up against Darklight was revealed in its complete and hideous glory. The diamond dog was typical enough as most diamond dogs went. Shaggy dust-coloured fur, a flat bulldog-like face with a maw full of predatory teeth and dark eyes. At least, his one remaining eye was dark; the other was covered by a black eye-patch with a distinct spiderweb of scars breaking up the fur on the side of his face.
Darklight pulled a face looking down at his diamond dog ‘mistress.’ “If I could make you prettier, Dusty, I would!”
Dusty gave an offended gasp, uttering after a short pause: “Ya’ll are not the colt ‘ah met three weeks ago.”
Almost immediately as the changelings were thrown off, both Darklight and Dusty leapt to their hooves and feet respectively. Their robes were thrown off in just a few deft motions, sending the clothes rippling into the air. Darklight’s horn glowed brightly with a levitation spell while Dusty’s nimble claws darted for his belt.
When the distracted changelings looked back down at the outcast and the diamond dog, they were shocked. Dusty had been wearing his usual chainmail poncho and gun-belt under his robes, and stood with one pistol aimed at Kriss, the other at the assassin by his side. And the flowery bonnet remaining perched on his head made his stance no less intimidating.
Saint and Samaritan – as he liked to call his ‘girls’ – each let out a heavy click as he thumbed the single-action hammers back and rested his fingers on the triggers. The mighty barrels of the five-shot revolvers were like gaping caverns ready to spew forth iron buckshot surfing on dragon’s fire. Kriss hadn’t seen firearms of such calibre often – as gunpowder weapons were a rare enough sight anyway – but he knew damn well he shouldn’t be on the barrel-end of one.
Darklight in the usual pony or changeling tradition of wearing nothing stood steadfast levitating a pair of small concealable crossbows out in front of him. They too clicked as they were prepared to fire at the remaining two changeling assassins.
As the opposition shifted uneasily, Darklight gave a confident smirk. “Trot on, Kriss.” he warned darkly.
Dusty mimicked the smirk. “If ya’ll decide not ta’, ‘ah swear by m’ah pretty floral bonnet ‘ah will put ‘ya in the dirt.”
The awkward pause continued for a solid sixty seconds as the changeling assassins contemplated their situation. In all honesty, being duped like that didn’t feel good. They were itching for a little payback. But clearly their folly could dish out just as much as they could take. If the changelings fired now; chances were it was the last thing they’d ever do.
Grimacing, Kriss narrowed his eyes at Darklight, his once-upon-a-time hive-mate barely reacting. “Are you going to shoot us, Darklight?”
“Yeah.” Dusty answered cheerfully for his comrade. “Course, that ain’t exactly plan-A!”
“Alistair!?” Darklight bellowed.
And in response there came a voice. A voice that commanded immediate attention, it shouted out from a concealed position in the back of the wagon – but at the same time it seemed to go ignored.
“The changelings were bad shots, so when they fired they only hit the trees on the roadside.” Said the voice in a compelling tone. And while the voice would have held the attention of young and old at a book-reading, the voice barely pulled a reaction out of all present.
The changelings barely reacted as it spoke to them. They hardly even registered it. Still, the voice pierced the veil. And while their ears and mind ignored the words, the narrative still entered their souls. The words wove their fate. Commanded their actions, and without knowing exactly how or why, they made sure that the voice spoke nothing but truth.
They fired.
And with a thwip and a series of thuds, the bolts whooshed right past the intended targets and struck the bark of the roadside trees.
Kriss looked down at his own crossbow and realised he had fired too, despite not being ready. He’d simply unleashed a bolt into the roadside. He gaped angrily for a moment, wondering how he could have let something so stupid happen. Then looking to his fellow changelings, he saw they were similarly obfuscated.
A heavy chuckle drew Kriss’ attention, and looking up he saw Dusty un-cock his pistols before resting the heavy barrels on his shoulders.
“Premature discharge happen ta’ ya’ll often?” he asked with a sly smile.
Kriss roared in anger, throwing down his crossbow. As the telekinetic energy faded, a new glow of sickly green magic flared in his eyes and around his horn. From a magical force concealed somewhere within his gooey centre he drew forth a blade forged out of fire. The blade hovered by the changeling’s side, wavering and spitting as the green flames licked at the dark air surrounding the weapon.
But before the assassin could even leap on his prey, the voice called out to them again.
“Shamed by incompetence, Kriss made himself spontaneously combust!” it said.
Kriss’ blade vanished, but the magical flames engulfing his horn remained. He wasn’t thinking. He just did exactly as the voice narrated it would happen. The fire spread over his face, down his neck and over his body. Right down to his cratered fetlocks, the flames crackled and consumed him before the changeling was completely immersed in fire. Fire burst from his wide eyes, and his agape mouth as he let out a cry of burning agony.
And then in a flash of green, Kriss vanished with a magical pop!
The voice continued with one final command. “The rest of the changeling assassins ran for the hills with their tails between their legs!”
They needed very little convincing. Shivering like pudding carried on the back of a pony in full gallop; the three remaining changelings turned tail and ran. They ran a good couple of dozen paces before their wings fluttered and they took flight into the night sky – howling and whimpering like hyenas the whole way.
Watching them go, Darklight laughed and tucked away the crossbows. “That’s right, bitches! And don’t come back!” he whooped after them.
Dusty chuckled heavily before twirling his pistols and slotting them back into the holsters on each hip. “It’s clear, Alistair!” he called over his shoulder.
The canvas top of the wagon shifted and lifted up on the right side. A figure dropped from the carriage and landed with a thud, curled up into a ball for a moment as it recovered from the short drop. With one limb pressed against the side of the wagon for support, the passenger straightened up on both legs and stepped out of the shadows before watching the three black dots that were their former changeling assailants disappear into the distance.
Looking from them to the pile of ash that was left of Kriss, the human gave a small grin.
Everything about the creature was out of place. From his clothes, right down to his species. For all intents and purposes there shouldn’t have been anything like him in Equestria, or any of the surrounding nations for that matter.
To add to that out-of-place-ness, the man looked like he was on his way home from his crappy part-time-job rather than an extended journey across rough terrain. Black shoes and slacks, the top button of his black and brown polo was un-done, the light beige jacket worn over the top hanging open to reveal the ‘McDonalds’ logo printed on the left breast. His shaggy-cut ‘I-don’t-give-a-fuck’ hairstyle was covered by a black cap bearing the same logo, and his eyes were framed by a set of ‘fashionable’ glasses. You probably know the kind, the ones with the really wide arms that look more like blinders than the traditional spectacle frame.
In one hand he was holding a plain notebook. Written on the first page were three phrases in red ink. The changelings were bad shots, so when they fired they only hit the trees on the roadside, Shamed by incompetence, Kriss made himself spontaneously combust and The rest of the changeling assassins ran for the hills with their tails between their legs were all written in Alistair’s loopy handwriting.
In his other hand he held the quill that had written the phrases that had magically commanded the changeling assassins’ actions. The feather was long and plushy, stark white and bound to a pointy tip carved out of a white marble-like material with what looked like horse-hair.
Though the artefact didn’t look like much, it wasn’t looks that made it valuable.
“Did it work?” Alistair asked holding up the peculiar quill.
Dusty was the first to reply with a nod. “Sure did, monkey-man!”
“Like a charm.” Darklight added as he hopped down from the wagon and started tethering himself up to draw the carriage again. “It all happened, exactly as you wrote and read it.”
“Good.” Alistair breathed with a nod as he looked the quill over before tucking it into his jacket pocket. “That’s good. I think I got this Jedi-mind-trick thing figured out.”
Dusty grunted. “Y’know, it scares me.”
“What? The fact Alistair just made Kriss explode himself?” Darklight asked before using his teeth to tighten the straps over his back. “Or the fact he can re-write reality as he sees fit?”
“Neither. Jus’ the fact ‘ah don’ understand his references half the time.” Dusty admitted, pulling off his bonnet and throwing it over his shoulder. “What in tarnation is a Jedi?”
Alistair chuckled before climbing onto the front of the wagon beside Dusty and waving his hand ominously. “These are not the questions you want to ask, mutt.”
Letting out a gruff ‘hah’ as if he actually understood that joke, the diamond dog reached back and produced a brown Stetson. Shaking it out in one claw, Dusty perched it on his head and pulled the hat low over his brow.
“Next stop; Equestria!” he proclaimed. “Giddy-up!”
With a roll of his eyes, Darklight effortlessly picked up the pace again, pulling the wagon along. “Oh, go giddy-up yourself!”
Their laughter echoed off into the eternal winter as they continued their way – Equestria looming into view over the brow of the next hill.
With quill and Stetson, riding a black steed; they went forth conquering…
THE FOREST WAS alive with noise. The distressed cries of birds cackled noisily as they rushed to find their nests. The howling wind whipped through the trees and the rushing noise of rain picked up as the waves of the frigid torrent escalated.
Feet struck the sodden ground with heavy, wet thuds. The footfalls grew louder as they approached a clearing midst the seemingly endless, claustrophobic tangle of woods. The foliage rustled. Voice-boxes rumbled letting out howls and barks of vicious glee. There was the sound of snapping branches…
Or perhaps it was snapping jaws.
A flock of frightened birds took flight into the monsoon raging above the treetops, quickly finding themselves overwhelmed and blown away into the murky mess that resembled the sky. At the same time a figure broke from the undergrowth.
Tim landed flat-out, the human sliding to a sodden and muddy halt in the clearing illuminated by mute lunar rays that managed to filter through the thick cloud cover swirling above. Angrily slapping down one hand in a muddy puddle, the human scorned himself silently before forcing himself back to his feet with a cry of defiance. Making a fresh dash across the clearing though, he felt a knot in his gut tighten as a dark shadow flitted before his eyes.
Across the clearing he saw it; a red eyed figure blur through the narrow spaces between the trees. Tim skidded to a halt, the rigid profiles cut into his hiking boots barely purchasing any traction in the mud.
As quickly as it appeared, the ominous shadow vanished, but Tim knew that whatever had cast the murky silhouette was still there. Waiting… watching…
He whirled around on the spot and moved to run back the way he had come. Another silhouette flashed between the trees before him, followed quickly by a second. A third swept through the woods on his left, then a fourth and fifth to his right.
“Ohcrap, ohcrap, ohcrap, ohcrap...”
As he muttered profanity after profanity under his breath, Tim instinctively patted his pockets. His digits – slick with mud – brushed over his wet fatigues as he looked down. The thigh pockets on his trousers were empty, as was the pouch hewn into the right sleeve of his hoodie. Noting the bright yellow coloured tac-vest covering his torso, Tim cursed the high-visibility vest. Covered in mud at night in thick woods he could have blended into the environment and remained concealed. But a bright yellow vest tended to render camouflage hopeless.
Still, there were several stuffed pouches attached to the ‘training-vest,’ one of which could contain something useful.
Desperately pulling at the Velcro-flaps covering over the pockets, Tim searched for something – anything he could use. Something heavy, something sharp. But with panic thick in his mind he could barely think straight, and couldn’t remember what he’d packed or what he was carrying.
And it was only when his hand brushed over the rough profile of the grip, that he remembered the weight on his right hip. Looking down, Tim closed his hand around the handle, using his thumb to flick open the button holding the pistol holstered to his hip.
Holding up the gun in both hands for a quick inspection, Tim felt courage flutter back to him in drizzles. The pistol was black as the night with an ejection-port polished to a metallic sheen pale as the moon. The weight was comforting, and it let out a satisfying click as he disengaged the safety.
“C’mon then, bitches!” – Tim taunted the thick woods surrounding him as he aimed – “You want breakfast? You’re gonna have to work for it!”
Pak-pak-pak!
The gun kicked hard three times as he fired into the bushes. He didn’t remember seeing any muzzle-flashes, but his eyes fluttered instinctively with every hard kick of the weapon. Even in two hands it was hard to control his aim. At the same time the trigger felt heavy, as if the gun was resisting every shot. It took two index fingers and a whole lot more effort than he thought was necessary to pull the trigger.
Pak-pak!
Two more shots were unleashed into the woods as he swivelled right, sighting a dark silhouette in the corner of his eyes.
Breathing hard, Tim blinked the rain out of his eyes and held out the gun in one hand. He used his left to pat down his pouches once more, wondering if he had any spare ammo for the gun; since he seemed to be hitting nothing but tree.
That was when he heard it. A low growl, like distant thunder at first; then growing in volume. It grew and grew, louder with each passing moment until Tim could feel the bass vibrate in his chest cavity. Slowly angling his head to the left, he saw the source.
The timberwolf was large, build of individual segments of wild looking wood. A pair of jagged antlers extended back from its shoulders like a set of devilish horns, and then there were the teeth; seemingly to be made up of vicious looking barbs, splinters and thorns. Its eyes were pitch black with burning red pupils hovering within the hollow pits. Sap dripped from the giant maw like saliva as it slowly stepped closer to Tim who found himself flanked.
But so stunned at the sight of the timberwolf, the human didn’t even think to turn and face it. Forgotten was a tac-vest full of handy gadgets and gizmos. Forgotten was the gun clutched in a white-knuckled grip.
Forgotten were all of life’s lessons taught by action films and violent video games. Had Tim remembered he had knees they would have turned to jelly and buckled.
All he could mutter when he realised he had been flanked was: “Clever girl.”
And then it pounced.
Tim registered the sensation as he would have originally imagined being mauled by a timberwolf might be. The initial pain of the heavy, clawed paws striking him in the chest. Being winded and struggling for breath as he feebly worked to scramble away to no avail.
Looking up, the human found himself looking into those evil looking eyes, the maw spreading into a victorious grin as the timberwolf prepared to chow down.
And then the jaw moved. Not in a biting, or chewing motion. It was like the timberwolf was talking. Then to add to the ridiculous looking puppet-like action, sounds other than canine growls and howls escaped the creature’s throat.
“Tim!? Timmy!” the timberwolf cried in a distressed voice. “Timmy, you okay? How the fuck are you able to sleep?”
Tim just blinked at the talking timberwolf, having plummeted far beyond the boundaries of confounded. And on his sixth blink, the young-man woke up.
With a gasp of air, Tim sat up to find himself perfectly clean. Perfectly dry… and perfectly uncomfortable.
At the sight of a masked face hovering over his – instead of that of a timberwolf – Tim gave a long groan and sat back again. His back flexed over some lumpy roots exposed from the cool forest earth and the back of his head grazed along the rough bark of a tree. His ass was numb from sitting on the uncomfortable ground of a forest that stretched on for a few miles in every direction.
Though it wasn’t the Everfree Forest like in his dream. It was a forest set in crappy old reality. A forest park near his hometown of Crowley.
“Tim!” the voice snapped again before something hit Tim in the side of the mask.
Looking up he saw it was the figure sitting in front of him. Wearing a similar brightly coloured vest to his own, he was clad in a set of olive green fatigues and his face hidden behind a mask only revealing the region around his eyes through a transparent visor.
Looking down, Tim slowly took in his own appearance. Dressed exactly as he had been in his dream, luminescent tac-vest and all. There was even the useless – and barely dangerous – gas-powered airsoft pistol strapped to his side. All that had been missing in the dream was the plastic paintball mask covering his face.
“Sam?” the young-man identified the other human before yawning sleepily. “Ugh… the ponies. They’re taking over my head. I was dreaming I was being chased through the Everfree Forest by Timberwolves.” As he finished explaining, he paused to ponder a moment, then smiled through his mask. “Though it makes a healthy change from the usual dreams of being raped by Molestia.”
“Yeah, that does sound healthy.” Sam agreed with a chuckle.
Patting his friend on the head, Sam straightened up and looked over his shoulder at a cluster of nearby figures blending into the undergrowth. While the guys may have immediately looked like soldiers, anyone could tell you they certainly weren’t anything of the sort.
Don’t get me wrong, the members of Hellhound Airsoft took great care in their appearance, especially for re-enactments or military-simulations. You could put any of them next to a fully kitted out marine and you’d barely see the difference between them. But the ‘Hellhounds’ were airsofters to the core, and didn’t have any delusions of grandeur otherwise.
The Hellhounds team leader – a heavy looking fellow in a dusty coloured camouflage uniform broken up only by a red band wrapped around his arm – leaned around Sam to get a better look at where Tim was laying like they had found him.
“Is he okay?” the airsofter asked, pointing at the yawning marshal.
“Yeah, he’s just sleeping on the job.” Sam explained.
“I dunno. It looked like he was having a seizure, or was one heck of a nightmare.”
Sam chuckled with a shake of his head. “Don’t worry about it. Tim just watches too much My Little Pony.”
“Oh, okay…” the team leader suddenly paused and blinked hard behind his goggles. “Whoa, wait! Watches too much what!?”
Tim just rolled his eyes – not really in the mood to explain reasoning he didn’t even understand himself – as Sam averted his gaze uphill. Far off across the woods were sounds of shouting followed by the whir of electric gear-boxes and the clack of gas bolts. More shouting followed before a crackle on the Hellhounds radio frequency.
“All reds! Village under attack! All units converge! Blue team is pushing hard!” a distressed voice escaped the speaker on one of the radios.
Quickly pointing out his friends, the team leader indicated with a quick flick of the wrist for the Hellhounds to move out. “Move, boys! Double time!”
As the players moved out to assist the rest of their team, Sam looked back and waved Tim over.
“C’mon, lazy-bones. We have a game to marshal.”
“Don’t rush me.” Tim yawned again.
Tim was what you could call a professional Airsofter. Not so much he was a professional player, but he was involved professionally with the airsoft community. Sam and Tim owned and ran Crowley Wargames – a designated airsoft-park just past the edge of their hometown. It was a great outdoor area, practically a whole mountainside of re-purposed farmland, fields and woodland, even a mock-shanty town built up in the centre of the largest wooded area, and all of it dedicated to regular wargames, military-simulations and re-enactments. And at every skirmish, milsim or other wargame of any description Tim and Sam could be found refereeing as marshals.
To some; playing and overseeing wargames and getting paid for it would sound like a dream-job. Honestly though, it didn’t pay well – hell it barely covered the rent. Crowley Wargames was slowly turning into a money-pit. But mixed with his weekday job at the local supermarket it was enough for a college dropout like Tim to scrape together a living.
Even still, Tim was content. Tired, yes, since he didn’t have a whole lot of free time. But content none the less. Though speaking of no free time.
“Timmy!” Sam yelled back at him already disappearing into the thick of the woods.
No rest for the wicked.
[/i]Grumbling, Tim clawed his way to his feet with a tired sigh. “Alright, I’m coming!” came his reply as he jogged after Sam towards the sounds of fighting. “Keep your panties on!”
******
The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself
falling down a very deep well.
- Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll
Wordsmith
Chapter 01
Down the rabbit-hole
NINE-O’CLOCK ON the dot – the heavens opened up with the fury of Odin putting on a mean drunk. Icy autumn rain swirled from the darkened sky and slashed through the air. It beat down on the tin rooves of the barns and sheds that served as Crowley Wargames’ offices and changing rooms.
The main shed, the largest of the structures serving as the main office, was home to a couch along one wall, a main desk where players could sign in and out, behind which were shelves loaded with packets of the CO2 gas-canister and bags of the six-millimetre plastic pellets that served as ammo for their airsoft guns. Sam was seated behind the desk with his laptop as he waved goodbye to the last two players signing out for the night.
Games had wrapped up smoothly. Tim and Sam had dismissed their assisting marshals and were just overseeing the final few players leaving the park before locking up for the night.
“Bye, guys. See you next time.” Sam waved with a friendly smile.
The players returned the gesture and ran out into the rain where their car was waiting. As the vehicle started and drove off into the monsoon that consumed the night, a white light flashed to life. Tim watched as the rear end of a silver Ford Focus backed right up to the shed doors before the brake lights burned solid and the car came to a halt. With a shudder, the Ford switched off and the driver-side door opened to reveal Tim as the owner.
Closing the door he jogged into the main shed before he was thoroughly drenched. Shaking out his limbs like a dog shaking out after a quick swim, the young-man picked up his backpack from beside the desk Sam was sitting.
Sam wasn’t watching, but could hear his friend fumbling about to open up the trunk of his car to stow his airsoft gear. Sam was more interested in an email that had just popped up on his computer.
He read through the sender-id and felt his eyes widen. His eyes only grew wider with each subsequent read-through of the message.
“Tim?” he called out with some worry laced in his voice.
There was no reply, so Sam kept calling out. “Tim…? Tim!”
Finally looking up from the screen, Sam was rewarded with a ridiculous sight. Tim was perched on the very edge of his car’s trunk. His legs were crossed and his forearms rested lazily on his knees; his eyes shut like a monk meditating.
“Tim?”
“Tim cannot hear you right now, as he is achieving a higher state of nirvana.” Tim called back in a very calm, enlightened voice.
Sam didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the open bottle of water from the desk and jumped from his seat – walked straight up to Tim and splashed a good handful of cold water in his friend’s face. Tim flinched, but it was mainly his expression that changed, going from calm and relaxed to tense and scrunched up.
“The spirits guiding Tim to eternal peace have spoken, and proclaim that Sam is a fucking asshole.” Tim said without moving from his perch.
“We need to talk.”
Tim sighed when he heard that foreboding tone in his friend’s voice. “Unable to comply. Sounds like too much effort.”
“I’m serious. We’re in trouble!”
Slowly opening his eyes, Tim pulled an inquisitive face. “Why?”
“Well, you know the way less and less players are showing up each weekend?” Sam started, moving back to his laptop and beckoning Tim over. “I think I figured out why. I got an email from the NAA.”
“Who?”
Freezing, Sam lifted his gaze with an odd look. “The National Airsoft Association.”
With an explosive sight, Tim rolled his eyes. “Ugh... those guys? Don’t they take ‘no’ for an answer?” he slipped from his seat and walked over to take a look.
“You didn’t technically say no to their offer of association membership, Tim. You told them, and I quote;” – Sam booted up his best impression of Tim, laying on the ‘Bill ‘n Ted’ stoner-voice thick – “Take your associate douche-baggery and shove it up your haemorrhoid infested cornhole.”
“Yeah.” Tim chuckled nostalgically. “Good times.”
Sam flashed a grin before turning serious again. “Well, they’ve been discouraging the airsoft community from visiting us because of our ‘independence’ so to speak.” – He continued as-a-matter-of-factly – “And now they want to come around with a safety inspector on Monday, make sure the site is up to safety standards.”
“This is a place for crazy motherfuckers to run around and *shoot at each other. And they’re concerned with safety!?”*
“Tim.” Sam said gravely. “This is likely a ruse to find an excuse to have us shut down.”
Tim held up his hands defensively. “Okay, okay. I’ll come around tomorrow and do a full sweep, make sure the park is baby-proof.”
“Thanks. I’ll meet up with you after lunch to give you a hand.” – Sam held out his keys to Tim, but Tim held up his own bunch of keys to reveal he hadn’t lost the keys to the park just yet – “Look, why don’t you let me handle the NAA on Monday? I know membership is a thousand bucks a year, but they pretty much control the sport in the whole country. We could really use the good publicity.”
“You’re right. I’ll sign the membership form.” Tim said that so calmly and plainly it scared the crap out of his friend.
Sam gaped for a moment before frowning heavily. “Seriously?” he asked delicately.
“What? I have a signature, might as well use it once in a while.” Tim scoffed out.
“No it’s not that. I was just expecting you to call me a sellout.” Sam admitted.
Tim shook his head. “No, you’re not a sellout... dude, I love this place. I hate my dayjob. I want Crowley Wargames to work. And if we need to conform to associations and what-not to make it work, then I’m game.”
“That’s very grown-up of you.”
Tim shrugged before moving towards his car to close the doors. “Yeah? Well you’re a big poopie-head!”
Sam laughed and waved. “I’ll lock up! See you tomorrow!”
“Later, darling!” Tim cried out in a very forced Rarity impression – that always made Sam laugh though – before stepping into his car and slamming the door shut.
When the car started on the first twist of the keys, Tim managed a new smile. It was like a sign; telling him everything was going to be alright. Fastening his seatbelt, Tim cranked the old Ford into first gear and set off into the night; high-beams on and windshield-wipers on full-power.
Turning out of the main gate, he left the park behind him and was soon cruising at eighty down the regional road with his radio blaring. It wasn’t long before he passed a pale road sign marked ‘Crowley, 3km’ in bold black letters. There were no other cars on the road, no other signs and no streetlamps. Just an open stretch of windy country road.
Eager to get home and chill, Tim opened up, the revving engine covered only barely by *AC/DC blaring on the stereo. The needle on the speedometer slowly crawled higher and higher, beyond ‘85’ to ’90.’ It dropped a little as he ploughed through a puddle, followed by a sharp bend, but after tweaking his gears down, then up again the needle jumped to ‘95’ once more.*
Thick banks of mist materialised over the road surface as the brain beat the earth with renewed vigour. All the while Tim barely noticed the lack of other road users. Normally by now a maniac – other than Tim – would have sped around the corner with their high-beams blinding him. But tonight no such bad-luck.
The only bad luck he noted was a flickering radio.
At first he didn’t notice the crackle of static break up the coarse rock and roll tones. It was only when his headlights started to flicker in time with the radio that Tim noticed it. Glancing down at the LCD display, the young-man frowned heavily. He didn’t see how that was possible, since he was playing back a CD. There was no reason the music would fade into white noise. And definitely no reason the headlights would flicker.
Maybe the car battery was dying. But the engine was running, so how did that work then?
Busted radio perhaps. And Tim had a remedy for that. Moving his hand off the steering wheel, he made a fist and punched the radio.
“Work, dammit!” he shouted at the device with the technical prowess of an ogre. “Work!” it was hard to believe the guy spent *any time in an institute of technology, never mind drop out of one.*
Not even watching the road as he turned onto a perfectly straight stretch, Tim continued to mercilessly pound the radio. The mist had engulfed the sides of the road and was growing thick enough that the glare of his own headlights were reflecting back into his eyes. Squinting he kept glancing down at the radio, desperately mashing the dashboard with his knuckles as the music vanished completely – replaced completely with a ghostly hissing noise.
And as he looked down to see the LCD die completely, it pulled at the steering wheel. A sharp jolt, forcing him to swerve onto the opposite side of the road.
Crying out with his eyes wide, Tim looked up again and held the steering wheel tight with both hands. It did little good, since the wheel was jerking left and right on its own accord. And soon Tim realised exactly why.
The road was gone, completely replaced with uneven, craggy and pothole riddled dirt and undergrowth. Exposed roots rumbled under the tyres causing the suspension to grind and bounce violently. And in his path were trees.
Trees were everywhere. Bent, uneven, moss covered trees. Low branches swatted the windscreen almost jamming up the wipers as they worked overtime to keep Tim’s view clear of rainwater. One thick branch took off the left-hand wing-mirror with a distinct crash of breaking glass.
“Oh, shit!” was but one of the profanities escaping Tim’s lips as he jerked violently at the wheel, pulling left and right in a hope to avoid the trees in his path. They were a blur of motion, hardly possible to make out in the darkness, even with the headlights.
And that’s when the lights suddenly went black. At the same time Tim as thrown forward, nearly hanging himself in his seatbelt. The whole car lurched as a spider web of cracks split across the windshield. The wipers stopped working. The engine choked and shuddered before dying. And Tim was sent tumbling through darkness.
He was spinning around like he was sitting in a teacup at an amusement park. He felt the blood rush to his head and assumed he flipped over. But when the world righted itself, he heard the axels snap and the uneven wheels grind to a halt in what sounded like very wet mud. Pulled to one side as the sudden deceleration hung him in his seatbelt again, Tim groaned, half slumped over to one side with his arms draped over the steering wheel.
There was no sound. No more breaking plastic or grinding metal. No more breaking glass or the rumble of the shocks. Just the violent patter of the rain beating the battered husk of the Ford. Water dripped through a break in the roof and hit Tim’s face as he slowly sat upright. One hand rubbed the side of his face as he slowly checked himself for injuries. A few bruises from his seatbelt maybe, but nothing else noteworthy.
Considering himself lucky, Tim worked on figuring out what just happened. Obviously he’d just run himself off the road. And then wondered how that was possible on a straight stretch.
Then a thought hit him.
“What? No airbag?” Tim asked out loud.
As if to either jinx or spite him, the steering wheel exploded with a distinct *pop. It left a ringing in his ears; and left his face pretty numb as the airbag deployed and smacked him full on in the face.*
*“Me ‘n mah big mouth.” came Tim’s muffled voice before the bag deflated with a sound quite akin to very large whoopee-cushion being sat on.*
Feeling something cold swirl around his feet, Tim looked down and blinked hard. All he saw was pitch blackness. Patting down his pockets he felt his phone in his pocket and pulled it out. Activating the LCD, he squinted at the sudden burst of light hitting him in the face. Opening up the desktop he checked for signal, tempted to dial *911 immediately. Thought that would do little use, as the desktop showed he wasn’t getting any service.*
Turning the phone around, he illuminated his lap and the foot well below. He felt his breath catch as he saw his feet were submerged in inky looking water.
“Oh, crap.” Tim whispered quickly lifting his phone and looking around. Had he landed in a lake? Was he sinking? “Crap-crap-crap…” he started fumbling for his seatbelt.
Thankfully it wasn’t like on television where seatbelts jammed at an inconveniently dire moment. With a *click the buckle let go and Tim managed to unravel himself. Holding his phone out like a makeshift torch, Tim found the driver-side door handle and gave it a pull. Feeling the door swing open with surprising ease, the man tumbled out of the car headfirst, dropping his phone in the process.*
“Oh, shit!” he cursed seeing his phone disappear into a murky pool and the screen fade to black as it sank beyond reach.
Tim on the other hand was sucked into the water up to his knees. He could feel the muddy water fill his trouser-sleeves, as well as the grains of dirt grind between his fingers as he reached up and touched the side of his partially submerged car. Surrounded by pure blinding darkness, Tim waded his way around the side of the Ford until his fingers met the prickly grass of a bank on which the back wheels were perched.
Pulling himself onto dryer land, he heard a metallic groan followed by bubbling. Reaching out he found the release button for the boot of his car and pressed it, swinging open the hatch. The trunk lights flicked on revealing the lone contents, his airsoft pack. Grabbing it, he took a step back and put the pack down.
He was rummaging through the contents for a good few moments before he produced a small LED torch from his gear. Flicking on the light, a beam of harsh clean light cut through the murky darkness, illuminating the grass he knelt in and the sheets of rain scything down from the sky. Standing up he managed to illuminate his car… and felt his heart sink.
The whole front half of the car was submerged into some kind of swamp. There was no way he was going to be able to take shelter and wait ‘till morning in that. Not without sinking and drowning anyway.
“Sunovabitch.” Tim sighed, almost growing tired of cursing out of exasperation at this point. Still, the reaction was natural. His insurance company wasn’t going to like this… and neither was his wallet.
Kneeling again he returned to his bag. Gripping the torch in his teeth, he dug into the pack, pushing aside his airsoft rifle, delving under his brightly coloured tac-vest and feeling his fingers close around a laminated bundle of sorts. He pulled it out and unfolded the bundle to reveal a rain-poncho adorned with a woodland camouflage pattern. Many rainy overnight military simulations he’d spent huddled under that thing, dry and cosy. Sure he was wet already, but there was no point getting any wetter or colder. Pulling the poncho over his head, he put his arms through the ‘sleeves’ and zipped up his backpack before shouldering both straps.
He figured his best bet would be to move out and find help. As he checked his surroundings to make sure he hadn’t accidentally dropped anything (other* than his phone) Tim saw his puddle of torchlight sweep over something.*
It looked like a wooden sign, broken and splintered. No doubt he’d run it over during the crash. Bending over he picked up the large rectangular plaque of rough, dark wood and squinted at the painted letters.
*Froggy Bottom B*og**
“That’s odd.” Tim muttered to himself as he let the wooden plaque fall again. “Never knew there was a bog around here.”
Tim had grown up in Crowley. He knew the area like the back of his hand, and never once had he ever stepped into a swamp while exploring.
Figuring it may just be one of those simple things he never noticed before, Tim angled his torch up and saw a tangle of broken branches in the treeline. That must have been where he breached the woods. So if he followed the hill upwards he’d be able to find the road and wave down a passer-by. Or at the very least walk into town for some help. He wasn’t that far away after all.
Pulling up the hood of his poncho and wiping some of the rain from his face, Tim set out, entering the woods and making the uphill trek.
******
THE CAVERN MOUTH was like a giant had taken a bite out of the hillside. Stuck up against the side of a steep hill of craggy rock and boulders, the gaping hole was a good dozen metres wide and the same distance high. A small waterfall cascaded down one side as the rainwater flowed freely down the rock faces and gathered in pools near the opening. Some stalactites and mites were visible in the corners, almost like pointy teeth eager to chomp down. The central path into the cavern was smooth and well worn. Meaning either water flowed through the cave often, or the cave was well used by something else.
Tim was willing to risk the latter as he scanned the surroundings. He’d been wandering for almost an hour and hadn’t found the road. Just more trees. Other than the broken branches where he figured his car had breached the woods and entered the bog, Tim hadn’t found anymore tracks on his way uphill. He had just moved straight over the crest of the hill and deeper into a new set of woods that seemed to grow more claustrophobic with each step.
Eventually – and thankfully – things had opened out into the sight of the great cavern before him, another feature he was unfamiliar with. Though Tim was going to shelter anywhere, a cave out of the rain sounded pretty good.
He checked the opening for tracks or bones, but found nothing. There was little to worry about anyway, the Crowley area didn’t have any dangerous predators beyond the odd fox or badger anyway.
Moving into the cave and out of the monsoon, Tim shook as much of the excess water from his clothes as he could.
Turning back towards the interior of the cave, Tim kept his light low as he took a few steps deeper into his chosen hotel for the night. Though as quickly as he stepped inside, the human stopped in his tracks.
A sudden gust of hot wind hit Tim in the face. So forceful it caused him to squint, and it caught in his hood pulling it back. Coughing as he noted the hint of ‘dog-breath’ in the sudden rush of air. And there was a second rush to follow. Though this one was in reverse, like the cavern was sucking *in air this time.*
When a second huff pushed Tim back, he felt his gut tighten. Very slowly he angled his torch up and illuminated the area directly in front of him. And what he saw was a living creature.
Though it wasn’t a normal kind of creature he was used to.
The creature was clearly a bear. But the first thing wrong with that sentence was that the Crowley area didn’t have native bears, nor any zoos for them to escape from. The second thing wrong was when Tim did some background calculations, he realised the bear was about four stories tall on all-fours.
Still, it was a bear with a long monkey-like tail. Its whole body was semi-transparent, the cavern walls and ceiling behind it visible. Blurry, but visible. The ‘fur’ was a shade of deep night-sky blue and pockmarked with clearly recognisable star-constellations. The ginormous bear had proportionately huge red eyes and understandably massive gleaming white teeth – revealed as the creature peeled its lips back into an angry snarl.
Dominated on the ursa’s forehead was a bright star with eight evenly spaced points. There was no mistake what exactly the impossibly proportioned bear actually was.
And Tim groaned with the realisation. “Oh… Froggy Bottom Bog… right. *Now I get it.” Everything finally clicked home. He remembered the episode of My Little Pony titled ‘Feeling Pinkie Keen,’ in which the ponies did battle with a hydra in a swamp called Froggy Bottom Bog where Fluttershy was relocating some little froggies. “I’m a Human in Equestria now.”*
That didn’t mean it made any kind of sense though. Still, it was nice to know why you were about to die.
What followed was a loud scream that went along the lines of: *“sunovabiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-…” Tim didn’t really get to end the syllable as he ran screaming from the cave, waving his arms for balance. In mere moments he covered the clearing outside the cavern opening and plunged headlong back into the woods.*
… followed quickly by a giant star-spangled bear. Not really something Tim was expecting to go through when he woke up that morning.
Crashing through the thick woods with a predator breathing down his neck, Tim couldn’t help feel a sense of deja-vu. This was exactly like that nightmare of being chased through the Everfree Forest by timberwolves. Only this was comparatively worse.
He wasn’t dreaming. He was actually in the Everfree Forest, being chased by an *Ursa Minor no less! In a way he was living the brony dream. In another way he was passing a brick out of his colon. Other than that though, he seemed to take the fact he had been inexplicably teleported into the world of a children’s cartoon quite well.*
There were so many physical and logistical errors with that sentence alone – I don’t even know where I’m supposed to be going with this.
Ducking, Tim narrowly avoided getting smacked in the face by a low branch. As he did though, he was hit in the face by a prickly fern. Stumbling with a splutter, the human dropped onto all fours for a short scramble before righting himself again. Still tasting fern though, he kept sprinting at full tilt through the forest, somehow managing to contain both his urge to scream – and his urge to wet himself.
“This is a nightmare.” The human whimpered wide eyed to himself as he grabbed hold of a tree-trunk and swung ninety degrees to his right.
And not a moment too soon. The mighty Ursa Minor launched itself forward and smashed into the forest floor at Tim’s heels, ploughing up a sizeable patch of woodland where the young-man had been mere seconds ago. Picking itself up, the ursa roared again, then bounded after its slippery prey once more.
“I really wanna wake up now!” Tim complained as a branch hit him in the shoulder, forcing him to wind-mill his arms for balance. “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up, dammit!”
No such luck.
The woods suddenly ended abruptly, and Tim saw a fresh treeline directly ahead… directly over a wide chasm laid directly across his path.
With a cry the human instinctively jumped. Barely getting a footing on the slippery and wet rocks, he pushed hard on his left leg – not his strongest of the two – clawing at the air with is hands as if trying to get some more altitude.
The chasm wasn’t a ravine per-se, but it was still a good few metres across. And God-only-knew how deep the thing went. Tim wasn’t all too excited to find out. And essentially the jump shouldn’t have been too far for him. But it had approached so suddenly, he couldn’t prepare for it.
As a result he *barely made it across.*
Digging his fingertips into the dirt on the opposite end, Tim felt the wind driven out of him with a pained cry as his mid-section slammed into the rocky ledge. Barely purchasing in the slick mud, the young-man slowly slid back until his left hand caught on a slap of stone. His other slid free and he dangled in the dark chasm. Looking down he saw nothing but darkness. Looking up he saw a glowing bear with sharp teeth of doom bear down on him. The Ursa Minor loomed over the treetops as it leapt forward for a final killing pounce.
Tim was out of options.
So he let go of the ledge…
The Ursa Minor let out a surprised cry, and looking up Tim savoured the shocked expression on the bear’s face as the fat body became wedged in the chasm above him. Though Tim’s joy didn’t last very long as he plummeted into the darkness below. It was only a matter of time before he hit the ground.
And hit the ground he did. Unfortunately the ride didn’t quite end there.
Tim’s knees buckled as he hit the slick dirt at the bottom of the chasm, and he fell on his side to absorb the impact without breaking his legs. Pain shot up through his feet as he landed, and then pain seemed to shoot through the rest of his body as he rolled head over heels, tumbling down the slippery, sloped floor of the ravine.
The slippy-slide through pure darkness seemed to go on for a bit, sending Tim cursing and shouting; rolling and sliding along a winding path carrying him deeper into the Everfree Forest. And finally, just as quickly as the ride started, it ended.
“Whoa, crap!” Tim cried as he slipped over the last slick rock and was thrown into the air. He flailed wildly for balance that didn’t come before landing head over heels in a bush and crashing to a halt.
With a groan, Tim slowly lifted his head from the puddle he’d landed in. coughing and spluttering, he forced himself onto hands and knees before suddenly stopping with a wince. Everywhere was grazed. Everything was bruised. Tim felt aches and pains in places he didn’t even know he *had.*
Managing to stand, Tim surmised he hadn’t broken anything – luckily enough. Patting his pockets, Tim wiped away some of the dirt and searched for his torch. It was gone. *Damn.*
Figuring turning back to look for his torch was a very bad idea, Tim sighed deeply. Picking a direction leading *away from the angry giant bear, he started moving through the dark woods again. This time much slower than before.*
Without a source of light, he had to rely on his night-vision. But his eyes still required a source of light. Trouble was, out in the woods there was *none. The cloud-cover meant there was no moon and no stars. With one hand feeling out ahead of him, Tim was swallowed up in a void of pitch black.*
He went on like that, moving slowly and cautiously, feeling his way for what felt like hours. In reality he couldn’t have covered more than a hundred metres. Soon enough though he stopped, seeing something up ahead. In the pure darkness, it kind of stood out, even though it was obscured by inky foliage and trees.
It was stationary, glowing up ahead between the trees. Squinting, Tim slowly dropped to one knee and shaded his eyes from the falling rain. There was definitely a light up ahead. Keeping low he bulldozed through the undergrowth to get a better look.
Keeping out of sight, he rested in a cluster of ferns, pushing one aside to get a good look at the source of the light. It was a house.
Though, *house was probably a bit of a generous description of the shack… perhaps less of a shack, more of a hut… alright, fine! It was a tree. And not really much of an impressive one either. It was a dead tree with a door and glowing window on either side.*
The lights in the windows were feint, like a light burning inside was drawing the last dregs of juice out of a batter. Never the less, the structure was recognisable. Rough bark walls, tangled branches with little multi-coloured bottles hanging from them and a scary hoodoo-looking mask hanging over the door.
First Soggy Bottom Swamp, then an Ursa Minor, and now Zecora’s hut?
... sure. Why the fuck not?
But there wasn’t a chance in hell he was approaching Zecora’s hut unprepared. He had already crashed his car, bumped into an angry Ursa Minor and nearly broken his neck trying to escape. He wasn’t about to just waltz on in and have Zecora mistake him for one of the Everfree monsters and open up a can of voodoo-kickass on the human.
Opening up his backpack, Tim grabbed hold of the carry-handle mounted on his airsoft rifle.
He pulled the replica rifle from his pack and folded out the stock with a sharp plastic-y *click. Producing one of the magazines he’d loaded up that morning, Tim slotted it into place with a similar click before yanking back the charging-lever. The third click that followed was more of a metallic nature. Checking the safety, he closed up his bag before donning the backpack again. With gun in hand he felt slightly more comfortable approaching the hut.*
Though considering the gun only fired small plastic rounds at about four-hundred feet-per-second; fat lot of good that’d do against something hell-bent on eating Tim’s head. Still, getting shot in the face would hurt like hell – even for an Ursa Minor – and Tim was about to take every advantage he could lay his hands on.
Maybe not the most subtle way of saying ‘hi’ to the zebra, but as mentioned before Tim’s patience for near-death experiences was wearing a bit thin.
With his rifle shouldered, Tim rose from the ferns and made his way up Zecora’s driveway. Keeping the barrel trained on the door, Tim looked down when the toe of his boot hit something hard. Expecting to see a rock or an exposed, he was surprised to see some broken earthenware. Glancing left and right he saw the masks Zecora usually decorated her yard with were laying strewn about the place; some of them even broken. Frowning, Tim tightened his grip on the replica gun and peered through the battle-sights.
With a gulp he smoothly approached the front door and gave the wood a prod with the barrel. He was expecting to just use the muzzle to knock and then Zecora would answer with one of her usual rhymes. Nothing of the sort happened.
In fact nothing happened…
Tim knocked again, harder this time. Though this time, the door swung open as he applied some more force on the wood. The hinges, rusted and squeaky from lack of care – groaned and creaked loudly like the front door of a haunted mansion opening ominously. As it opened, some of the light from the inside spilled out onto the porch, giving Tim a good view over the inside of Zecora’s home.
Only Zecora wasn’t home. In fact, it didn’t look like the place belonged to the zebra anymore.
Confusedly Tim ducked through the doorway and looked around the hut, lowering his rifle across his chest. He was knelt where Zecora normally would have had a big black cauldron to brew whatever soups or teas she was known for. Set down beside him was large jar with a few glowing bugs trapped inside – and even though they were just bugs it was enough to light up the hut. The walls that used to be decorated with souvenirs of her homeland were stripped clean leaving only dusty shelves, empty ingredient racks and a few empty and broken bottles. The bed over in one alcove of the hut was stripped clear leaving only the frame and a pile of dry hay.
There was no sign of life, not for a long time judging by the layers of dust. There was no sign of a struggle either. It was like Zecora had just packed up and moved out.
Tim scratched his head doing a mental inventory of events passed in the My Little Pony cartoon. He wasn’t all that up to date with the latest season, but as far as he knew Zecora was supposed to still be in the Everfree Forest. If she moved he imagined there would have been a ripple through the brony community. Was there maybe a new episode where Zecora leaves that Tim wasn’t familiar with?
No, it just didn’t sound right. It didn’t *feel right either.*
Sighing, Tim put down his weapon and dropped his backpack. So much for the hope of help. Still, there was no reason not to stick around. The hut was insulated, warm and pretty defendable. He’d be safe there for the night. Might as well unpack and do an inventory of his gear.
Opening his pack, Tim emptied the contents over the floor and set about sorting his stuff out.
He had:
One tac-vest, bright yellow. One of the pouches held a bundle of glowsticks – the variety one might find handed out for free at a rave. He also had some spare laces, para-chord and a Swiss-army knife tucked into one of the other pouches.
One gas operated airsoft rifle with two sixty-round magazines – only one of which was loaded with gas and rounds.
One gas operated airsoft pistol with one twenty-round magazine – not loaded at all.
Five spare CO2 canisters that operated both weapons.
One bag of BBs that served as ammunition for the airsoft guns. A good five-thousand rounds in one bag. Though one would be surprised how quick you could burn through those.
One small medical kit. Some paracetamol, water purifier tablets with some gauze, tape, some bandaids and antiseptic wipes. That’d definitely come in handy.
He had a one canteen, still half full of fresh water.
A hip flask still full of cheap supermarket brand whisky. There’d be no surviving without that.
A bag of ready salted crisps.
A candy-bar that Tim wasted no time in scarfing down.
Finally there was his noise trap.
That was something Tim was particularly proud of. He’d invented it to alert him of enemy players entering his perimeter on the airsoft field. Essentially all it was; was a rape-alarm, some tie-wraps and a spool of fishing line. He’d hide and tie up the rape-alarm, then use the fishing line as a trip-line. When the line was tripped, it pulled the fob from the rape-alarm and the device let out an annoyingly pitched alarm.
Picking up the noise trap, Tim moved back to the hut’s front door and shit it. He then tied the rape-alarm to the door handle before attaching the fishing line and tying the other end around a nail in the door frame. Now when the door opened, the rape-alarm would be set off.
Satisfied he’d get a screeching wake-up call should anybody, anything or anypony step through the door, Tim packed up his bag again and moved to the bare straw bed. Feeling a tinge of guilt about squatting in Zecora’s pad, Tim curled up under his poncho serving as a makeshift blanket and shut his eyes.
Suddenly not giving a crap anymore – and fuelled by exhaustion – he was asleep mere moments later.
******
IN THE SUBSIDING rain, Froggy Bottom Bog was still alive with a rush of bodies.
Ponies clad in armour as dark as night heaved, their jaws biting down hard on the tethers attached to the half-submerged car in the swamp. On either side to the rear of the crippled vehicle stood a diamond dog in similar black chainmail. They heaved by the rear wheel-arches, helping to slowly drag the Ford out of the mud.
Standing watch were a dozen other ponies and diamond dogs, mere silhouettes in the night as they secured a perimeter. Under their armour and masked in the night they seemed identical. Even the way they moved it seemed like they were all duplicates. Two pegasi mares stood out from the rest though.
The pair were like angels, austere sisters of battle, perfectly identical – cutie-mark of a crimson shield and silver blade and all – with stark white coats clad in polished silver armour, golden filament scrawling alien insignias over every sleek mirror-like surface of their bodices. The slender pair of ponies stood with military perfection, nimble little penitence engines working off their own sins in the condemnation of others. Their platinum fringes sparkled in the poor illumination of the torches and oil-lamps burning around those working to free the alien vehicle from the bog’s grasp.
They stood side by side keeping watch like a pair of loyal guard dogs protecting their master. And their master stood back in the shadows, a tall lithe figure perched on a black chariot.
Slowly but surely the bog unfurled its fingers from the vehicle and with a wet *smack it was pulled clear of the mud to reveal the extent of the damage. One of the doors hung limply open, the bonnet was buckled and folded over, the lights and windows smashed. A wing mirror hung from a bundle of wires, and there needn’t be any mention of the mud staining the bodywork.*
Panting for breath with his tongue hanging out the side of his maw, the largest diamond dog straightened up and saluted the dark figure watching over them. “My king! It is done!”
There was no reply. Only the dull thud of heavy boots striking the sodden earth as the tall figure dismounted the chariot and moved out of the shadows. The rain subsided and the clouds shifted, glittering pale moon-beams piercing the night and reflecting from his garb.
It was hard to believe only a year ago Alistair had been a small and pathetic boy shivering in a scratchy hand-me-down McDonalds uniform. Now he was practically a polar opposite. He was taller than a pony princess; more muscular than a diamond dog bruiser. He was clad in his own uniform – a long black trench coat made out of some kind of scale-mail, glistening in the moonlight, and a dark fedora keeping the rain off his head. The lenses of his glasses were glistening pure white, ominously hiding his eyes from view.
Without a word, the human moved directly past his minions, his pegasus angels following briskly in his footsteps. The pegasi barely had to twitch an eye to their side to cause the other ponies and diamond dogs to take an intimidated step back.
Moving around the passenger side of the Ford Focus, Alistair quickly opened up the front door and ducked under the roof. Taking a look around the dark confines, his eyes fell on the glove-box. Opening it up, he soon re-emerged from the vehicle looking down at a soggy laminated square of paper. As he took in the identification, a small smirk tugged at the corner of Alistair’s mouth.
Plastered on the driver’s licence beside the name was a picture of the owner. Short black hair, dark brown eyes and obvious middle-eastern ancestry. It was the face of Timothy Sahar.
Better known to his friends as ‘Tim.’
“Our guest has arrived.” Throwing the driving licence into the bog, Alistair lifted his head and addressed the minions under his command in a loud voice. “Spread out! I want him found! Bring him to me alive!”
As the mashup of armoured ponies and diamond dogs scrambled to gather their gear for a search of Everfree Forest, one of the angelic pegasi shattered her stony façade and lifted her gaze to her king. “What will you do, sire?” she asked in a voice as soft as shuffling foal’s hooves.
Alistair beckoned his angels to return to the chariot with him. “I will return to Canterlot. I need to be ready when Tim and I are… *reunited.” And judging from the dark grin on his face, he had nothing but malice in store for Tim…*
